


secrets

by preromantics



Category: American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's not meant to be a secret that it happens (keeps happening), but it's also not anything else, really.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	secrets

It's not meant to be a secret that it happens (keeps happening), but it's also not anything else, really. It's the space between them that holds small jokes and little nuances that they have in common, closing up with Emma pressed against the couch in Andrew's trailer, her thighs spread under his hands, all smooth and pale and long under his splayed fingers.

Not a secret, no, not something they mean to keep doing when each day of filming wraps, finding each other in small spaces because they probably shouldn't compliment each other; Andrew closes his eyes sometimes and thinks about never-ending dreary seasonal rain against his childhood bedroom window where Emma probably closes her eyes and thinks of the sun. She's nearly like the sun, too, bright all around him and if this -- if they were more, more than stolen moments and his lips dragging down her skin while her nails drag down her back -- he'd probably tell her so. 

They still laugh on set. Emma acts out the time Andrew tripped over a stray electrical cord and went sprawling down a city sidewalk into a neat, natural collection of old chewing gum with perfect comedic timing until filming wraps. They sit back-to-back on park benches, eating their street made lunches during breaks and enthuse about past mutual costars and upcoming project, and Emma laughs with her stomach but Andrew always laughs in his throat.

On the last day of filming together Emma doesn't come back to Andrew's trailer and Andrew doesn't go to hers; it's -- whatever it is that they've been doing, stealing little bits of each other for their own, it's always mutual, it's always a closing of friendly, light distance into something more predatory, something that makes them less bright, almost, less inclined to laugh and lean close casually. 

Andrew doesn't take it personally, he kisses her cheek when she comes bowing with a flourish out of the make-up trailer in sweat pants and an over-sized hoodie and he maybe lets his hand linger too long on the warm small of her back.

She laughs at him, though, knocks her shoulder against his arm, and that's that. There have been other bright, comfortable people in Andrew's life like her -- though not like her at all -- and there have been secrets and not-secrets and that's okay. 

Except he ends up at the little loft apartment she's leasing that night, and she opens the door in the same clothes from before, her face splitting into a wide grin. "Always knew you were the type that would come around," she says, the closest they've ever come to talking about whatever, but that's okay. 

Andrew waits to be invited in, letting his mouth smile back, and he laughs full and loud when she drags him through the door by the lapels of his jacket.

It's different, less guarded, and Emma wraps her legs around his waist when he pulls her up onto the long, low table near the door, baskets for keys and pocket change sliding off and onto the floor. She breathes out harsh and hot against his neck, making high sounds she'd never made before during their little moments on set, and Andrew thinks about taking his time, thinks later, and doesn't hold back at all.

"Stay for dinner," she says, breathless after, and Andrew has a flight in the morning, already a new project to start preliminary on now that Spiderman is taking a break before post-production but -- he can't find it in him to say no for the world, and the way their knees knock together while they eat take-out on Emma's couch doesn't feel anything like a secret at all.


End file.
